


i never knew just what it was about this old copy shop i love so much

by elegantwings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Pets, copy shop au, flagrant abuse of copy machines, of an epic variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantwings/pseuds/elegantwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just a summer job, and Stiles had made his peace with being doomed to paper cuts and replacing ink cartridges until the semester started up. Then Derek walks in, charms a cranky copy machine, and catches Stiles' attention with his alleged "animal rescue operation". Stiles is going to save the innocent pets of Beacon Hills from kidnap and ransom if it's the last thing he does. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, this is what happens when someone says "coffee shop au" and someone else hears "copy shop au"</p>
            </blockquote>





	i never knew just what it was about this old copy shop i love so much

**Author's Note:**

> for Cayce and Eileen, who basically came up with the concept and then unapologetically hounded me until i finished it.
> 
> i'm not even a little sorry about the title

It’s the summer after Stiles’ first year of college, and he is so bored he might actually die from it. He’s gone straight from actually interesting classes and a fairly good social life straight back to the nothing he dealt with for seventeen long years. On top of that, he spends 4-6 hours a day letting people make copies of flyers for lost pets, church events, yard sales. If there’s anything remotely uninteresting going on in Beacon Hills, Stiles can tell you exactly where and when it’s happening. And yet, here Stiles is, doing none of it. To make things worse, the air conditioning is set too high and the customers are rude. Stiles spends his first week on the job spinning around on a wobbly chair and trying to figure out how to hook his ipod up to the sound system.  

By Thursday, the chair is broken but he no longer has to listen to soft rock, so it’s a fair enough trade. On the other hand, he’s pretty much used up all available entertainment he had lined up until August. He’s actually considering photocopying his ass (jeans or no jeans?) when a guy walks in, for once someone who is neither a great-grandparent nor a soccer mom. Actually, the guy is pretty hot, with a short, neat beard, dark hair gelled just short of looking douchy. Not that douchy, anyway. Not to mention his biceps, which show beneath his short sleeves, his muscled calves and tanned skin. God, Stiles is really fucking bored, if in the five seconds the guy has been in the store Stiles has basically checked out his entire body. And as he sets himself up at one of the copy machines (like he actually knows how to use it, which is a miracle), Stiles gets the perfect view of his ass, snug in his khaki shorts.

“Do I have a sign on my back, or something?” the guy asks without turning around. The copy machine, the kind of spotty one that Stiles has to try and fix at least once a day, is spitting out pages perfectly, not even making its usual pained groans.

“Are you a copy machine whisperer?” Stiles asks, because otherwise he would have said something humiliating.

Now he does turn around, raising an eyebrow in judgment. “Are you new here or something?”

“I’ve been working here since Monday, thanks.” The guy just turns back to gather his papers, although he probably rolls his eyes. Stiles can just tell. He pays in silence, and when Stiles says “Have a nice day?” at his retreating back, he barely nods on his way out the door.

The next person who uses the same machine gets it so hopelessly jammed that Stiles spends the rest of the afternoon trying to fix it, wondering what kind of satanic ritual that guy performed to get the damn thing to work.

On Monday of the next week, because Stiles managed to talk his way into getting weekends off, the Copy Machine Whisperer is waiting by the door when Stiles opens at 9am. He goes straight for the same copier, starting to feed another small pile of papers into it. And that’s kind of weird, usually if people are making copies they don’t bring a stack in with them, just one or two.

“Throwing a party or something?” Stiles asks, coming around from the counter to try and peak at the copies.

He gets a pained look for his efforts. “What happened to Mary? She minds her own business.” 

“I have no idea who that even is.”

The guy definitely rolls his eyes this time. “She used to work here. Obviously.” 

Stiles reaches for a flyer, but he isn’t quick enough; the man’s hand and Stiles tangle together, crushing the paper.

“I’m not paying for that,” he says, while Stiles stares dumbly at the way his muscles ripple when he yanks the paper out of Stiles’ hand.

Stiles pulls his hand to his mouth in shock, sucking at a paper cut. “Come on, man,” he says around his fingers, “That’s going to be so complicated to figure out.”

“You should have thought of that before you tried to _spy on me_ ,” he snaps.

“It’s just professional curiosity,” Stiles mumbles. It takes forever to fix the bill, an awkward silence that stretches around the Copy Machine Whisperer staring angrily at his phone and Stiles muttering curses at the register.

So Stiles practically falls out of his new spinny chair in shock when he sees CMW coming into the store for the third time that Thursday. “There have got to be other places around here where you can get your possibly shady flyers made.”

“Possibly shady,” CMW repeats flatly, already working his magic on the copy machine.

“Probably dick pics,” Stiles decides.

“I keep hoping Mary will come back,” CMW says, like he still doesn’t have time for Stiles even though he’s clearly got nothing better to do than make tons of copies at least twice a week. Then he turns his head casually, not quite looking at Stiles, “She knew better than to ask about the dick pics.”

Stiles flushes red immediately, nearly tripping into the counter as he splutters, “You aren’t serious!?”

“Of course not,” CMW says, shaking his head, like Stiles is the biggest idiot in the world.

Stiles pretends to be interested in his phone for the next ten minutes, unable to look CMW in the eye when he finally pays. Because yeah, Stiles had definitely been thinking about his dick, had actually considered trying to snatch up one of the flyers again. Totally fell for CMW’s flawless poker face. 

The cursed copier gets stuck again that afternoon, making noises of pure evil before spitting out at least six pages that were definitely not what the customer wanted at all. Stiles doesn’t even look at them, tossing them on the counter just to get them out of the way while his unhappy customer rants about how useless he is, how she’d be better off just going to Staples. Stiles swallows the urge to tell her to do that, please, and instead gives her as much of a discount as he’s allowed before locking the door behind her. Then he takes a deep breath and unlocks it again, reminding himself that this could be McDonald’s and he could be covered in French fry grease right now.

When he finds the sheets sitting on the counter, dealing with that woman was almost worth it. They’ve got to be what CMW was copying earlier, at least, there’s a really good chance that they are. Each flyer is the same, a picture of a tiny fluffy terrier. _Found Dog,_ it says, _For more info contact Derek,_ followed by a phone number. And oh, Stiles is incredibly tempted to program the number into his phone, play some kind of prank, but because he actually wants to stay employed for the rest of the summer, he shreds the pages before he leaves for the night.

Except he keeps one, folds it up into his wallet, just in case. In case of what, he’s not really sure.

***

Stiles lets it slip he knows Derek’s name the very next time he comes in. He can’t help it, he hates not knowing people’s names and it was only a matter of time before he actually called him Copy Machine Whisperer to his face.

Once again, Derek looks utterly unimpressed with Stiles’ entire existence. “Should I be concerned that you’re stalking me?”

“No way dude,” Stiles waves his hands frantically, “It’s just, that copier started printing a bunch of your flyers, I mean, I’m guessing they’re yours? Anyway, that’s some serious dedication to getting that poor dog back to its owners.”

Derek actually looks a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s actually more than one dog. Whenever I find a stray, I put up flyers. Cats, too.”

Actually, now that Stiles thinks about it, there are a lot of found animal flyers around town. “That’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“It’s really, when the owners get their animal back. That’s the best part.” He looks away, shrugging. “Anyway, if I get any prank calls I’m calling the cops,” he says, gruffly.

“Good luck with that,” Stiles says, and even if Derek had wanted an explanation Stiles’ wouldn’t have offered one.

***

“It’s just weird, you know,” Stiles says to Scott, pausing their game again. “Who does that out of the kindness of their heart? He’s probably just in it to get the reward money.”

“You said his name was Derek, right?” Scott asks, and when Stiles agrees, says, “If it’s the same Derek who brings animals to the vet all the time, I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who needs reward money. You should see the car he drives.”

“I have, actually,” Stiles realizes. “And you know, that doesn’t really help his case. Maybe that’s how he affords such a nice car. And he’s got to have a gym membership, have you seen his body? He’s funding his lifestyle kidnapping poor defenseless animals.”

“Kidnapping?” Scott asks, surprised, “That’s a really big accusation. He really doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“He’s kidnaps animals, Scott.”

“You don’t have any proof!” Scott laughs, “Come on, dude, he’s just a weirdly good guy. That you have a crush on.”

Stiles feels himself heat up, pressing on the start button a little too hard. “I’m committed to animal justice,” he defends, and refuses to talk about it anymore.

***

The next time Derek comes in, Stiles is helping Mrs. Davis with the copier from hell. And by helping, he’s actually doing it for her, keeping up small talk all the while. Seriously, he does not get paid enough for this.

Derek actually waits for her to leave before he gets to work.

“We do have more than one copier, you know,” Stiles says. Derek ignores him, so Stiles goes back to actually doing his job. So he’s not paying attention when Derek comes up to pay, and the sound of a stack of paper hitting the counter startles Stiles halfway off his chair. “What the fuck,” he breathes.

“If you’re going to be a pain in the ass,” Derek says, holding his credit card between them, “Make yourself useful and put some of these up in your neighborhood.”

Stiles stares at him for a moment, robotically taking the card and processing his payment. “What? Okay?” The best way to know your enemy, he decides, is to work with him.

Derek doesn’t smile, but he looks considerably less constipated. “Thanks.”

“Wait!” Stiles shouts when Derek is moments from the door. Derek turns back around, eyebrow quirked. “Uh, I was just wondering,” he flounders for something, anything he could say that would explain why he’d asked Derek to wait. Because honestly, he’s not sure. The getting to know his enemy thing feels like a pretty weak excuse, one that would definitely not hold up in front of Scott. But it’s all Stiles has, right now. He is going to save the pets of Beacon Hills if it’s the last thing he does.

“Wondering what, Stiles?” Derek asks, painfully slowly, after a few more moments of awkward silence.

“You know my name!”

Derek sighs, “Nametag.”

“Oh, right,” Stiles laughs, embarrassed. “I just, um,” he glances down, pulls one of Derek’s flyers off the stack and scans it. “Why aren’t these in color! If you care so much about the dogs, I mean.”

“Dogs can’t see color,” Derek says like it’s the most obvious reason in the world, and Stiles is the crazy animal thief.

“Derek,” Stiles says, with a long pause for effect, “Dogs aren’t the ones reading the signs.”

Derek flushes dark red immediately, rushing out the door without another word.

***

Putting up flyers is a pain in the ass, Stiles decides, and if Derek was actually a good person truly concerned with the welfare of lost pets, he should probably get a medal for it. Every Thursday and Monday he shows up as soon as Stiles’ unlocks the door, and never seems to be fostering any fewer animals. In fact, it seems like over time he’s trying to reunite more and more with their owners, which just makes him more suspicious as far as Stiles is concerned.

On a Thursday, mid-June, after all of this has been going on for a few weeks, Derek actually shows up with a dog. Stiles sees the dog before he even processes Derek, and leaves the store keys in the lock so he can immediately drop down on the sidewalk and love all over it.

The Jack Russell Terrier barks happily, putting its front paws up on Stiles’ knee and basking in the attention. “Hi, baby, you’re beautiful, yes you are,” Stiles coos, rubbing its ears.

“This is Cap,” Derek says, reminding Stiles of his presence.  

“After Captain America??” Stiles asks, ready to completely re-evaluate his opinion of Derek.

“Well, not really?” Derek shifts, looking almost nervous, which is weird. “My sister named him, so I guess it’s possible, but he was one of the first dogs I rescued, and he kind of bosses around all the other animals, so my sister named him Captain. Cap for short.”

Stiles stands up, after giving Cap one more scratch behind the ears for good measure. “I should probably make you leave him outside,” he says, opening the door and ushering them both in.

From then on, Derek is almost never without Cap, although sometimes he brings Daisy instead, who is a sweet and goofy Golden Retriever, and once he actually shows up with Marvin, a little orange cat on a leash.

Stiles has to _do something about this._

***

Scott mentions that his boss, Dr. Deaton, is going to be out of town for a week. Naturally, Stiles shows up at the vet clinic right after work, grinning widely. “Scott, my bestest buddy, how’s it going, all alone in the vet’s office, no boss in sight?”

Scott smiles, completely unaffected. “You just missed your new bestest buddy, Derek.”

“Fuck you, my friend,” Stiles says, just as cheerfully. “Funny that is exactly who I came here to talk about.”

“I’m shocked,” Scott deadpans, punching Stiles’ shoulder lightly. “Seriously, what’s up?”

“I need to borrow a dog,” Stiles says, seriously.

Scott doesn’t miss a beat. “No way, whatever it is, just no way. Dr. Deaton trusts me to run things while he’s gone and I’m not going to mess that up.”

“Ooor, he’s going to be super impressed that you helped catch a dog thief.”

“He’s not a, oh forget it, Stiles,” he blows out a frustrated breath through his teeth. “No way.”

“It won’t even be gone a day, I promise. No one will ever know.”

Scott considers it for a moment. “Only if you come walk the dogs in the morning until my boss gets back.”

“Deal!” Stiles exclaims, going for a high-five. “Okay, here’s my plan.”

Oddly enough, it goes off without a hitch. Scott calls Derek, claiming that someone turned in a bulldog, and since he knows this is basically Derek’s passion, could he try to reunite it with its owners? Derek is as all over that as Stiles knew he would be. And then, the next day, he shows up at the copy shop with the exact same bulldog on a found dog flyer. Stiles feels like a genius.

“Oh my god,” he pulls one of the flyers off the top of the pile, “You found my dog!” He tries not to oversell it, but Derek looks skeptical all the same.

“You never told me you had a dog.” Cap scratches at the bottom of the counter, trying as always to jump up and get to Stiles. Derek gently scolds him.

“I mean,” Stiles scrambles, “It’s my dad’s dog, you know? I don’t see him that often, and he’s been missing for a while, since before I came back from school. We’d kind of given up hope.”

Derek softens. “I guess it makes sense you wouldn’t have mentioned it, given what I do.”

For a second Stiles feels shitty, but he buries it underneath his pride at pulling this off so perfectly. “Can I come to your place after work and pick him up?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Derek says, smiling for possibly the first time that Stiles has seen. “You should bring your dad, too.” He scribbles his address on the flyer Stiles was holding. “Any time this afternoon is good.”

Derek leaves looking a little bit like he won the lottery, even if just a small scratch-card one. Stiles reminds himself that Derek is a bad person, and should not be allowed nice things.

***

Stiles nearly gets lost about six thousand times on his way to Derek’s house. It’s in the middle of the Preserve, because of course it is, but it isn’t the huge house everyone knows of in the Preserve, again because of course nothing would be that simple. You’d think it would be easy to find one of only two houses that existed in a ten mile radius. You’d think.

When he finds it, finally, Stiles isn’t surprised at all that it’s huge, looks like Derek build it himself, and has three dogs, as well as Marvin the cat, chilling out on the porch. One of the dogs lifts its head and barks when Stiles gets out of his jeep, and he recognizes that it’s Daisy. “Hey girl,” he says, rubbing her head, “I missed you.”

Derek steps out of the door, which he seems to keep open all the time like this is Little House on the Prairie or something. “Hey, you made it,” he says, with a slight smirk. Like he was expecting Stiles to get hopelessly lost and call him desperately for help.

“I used to hang out around here with my friend Scott all the time,” he explains, and it isn’t a lie because they really did hang out here, even if it was just once and ended up with Scott having an asthma attack right after losing his inhaler.

Derek raises an eyebrow, “I shouldn’t be surprised that the phrase ‘private property’ means nothing to you.”

Inside, the house looks a lot neater than Stiles expected, considering Derek is housing any number of animals at any given time. Having an entire preserve for them to run around in probably helps. Another cat rubs up against Derek’s legs, stopping just short of the door, and Stiles can hear a bird squawking from deeper in the house. “How many pets do you actually have?” he asks, half expecting an answer in the low hundreds.

Derek pauses to think for a moment, “Cap, Daisy, Marvin, this is Snowball,” Snowball is perfectly black, Stiles notes, “And the bird is Susan. Oh, and there’s Bruce on the porch.”

“You really do have a secret Marvel fetish, don’t you.”

Derek doesn’t make eye contact, leaning down to push Snowball towards the inside of the house. “My older sister named all of my pets,” he mutters.

“So where’s my dog?” Stiles changes the subject abruptly, planning on following Snowball’s path, not expecting Derek’s arm to come out of nowhere and halt his movement. “What the hell, man?”

“Call him to you,” Derek says, not budging an inch.

“What?”

“Call him to you,” Derek repeats. “Prove he’s yours.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles backs up defensively, crossing his arms. “That’s ridiculous, I recognized him in the poster, _he’s my dog._ ”

“Call it company policy,” Derek says with a smirk, but then after another moment, reassuringly squeezes Stiles shoulder. “He’ll know you, even if it’s been a while.”

Oh god, Stiles thinks, and takes a deep breath. “C’mere, Skippy,” he calls, cursing Scott for giving him the dog with the dumbest name, “It’s me, Stiles, come on, buddy, come here!” Nothing happens.

Stiles expects Derek to start yelling, to get angry, or something. But Derek does the complete opposite, looking at Stiles with sincere regret. “I’m so sorry, Stiles. I won’t stop looking until I find your dog.”

“No, what? He’s my dog!” Stiles insists, “C’mon, Skippy, seriously, get over here!” This was not the plan. Scott is going to _kill him_.

Derek puts his hand back on Stiles’ shoulder. “I know it’s hard, but it’s better to just accept it now.”

“Accept that I’m going to get my best friend fired?” Stiles snaps, trying to push past Derek. “We had a deal, Skippy!” he shouts, bordering on hysterical. “You’re so not getting any extra dog treats, and if Scott thinks I’m still going to walk you afterthis betrayal!”

Derek’s face twists in confusion. “What are you talking about?” He keeps getting in Stiles path, until he finally grips Stiles’ arms, hard, and looks him dead in the eye. “What are you talking about?” he says through clenched teeth.

Stiles freezes, a little terrified. “Oh my god, please don’t kill me. I need that dog back, I need to bring him back to the vet by tonight or else really bad things will happen to me and my best friend. Mostly probably me.”

“It _really_ isn’t your dog,” Derek breathes, letting go of Stiles like he’s on fire. “I thought you were having an anxiety attack because it wasn’t your dog, but no, Skippy was _never_ your dog.”

“Now that we’re all on the same page,” Stiles says weakly, “Can I have him back?”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Derek says coldly, pulling out his phone and dialing. “I have an intruder on my property.”

Derek keeps talking and Stiles’ stomach sinks, sending chills through his body. This is exactly the worst case scenario he hadn’t even thought about. “Look, I can just go, you can bring the dog to the vet, no big deal,” he says after Derek hangs up. “I can just go, and you can find a new copy shop, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

He tries to back his way out the door, but Derek calls, “Captain!” sharply, and Cap blocks Stiles’ path, growling menacingly.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and groans, “This is officially the worst day ever.”

“I’d just like to know what exactly you were trying to do,” Derek says, freakishly calm. “Other than put someone’s beloved pet in danger.”

“Oh that’s pretty great, coming from you,” Stiles scoffs. “Let me guess,” he gestures towards Cap, “This is how you scare reward money out of people after you reunite them with the pets that you probably stole in the first place.”

“What,” Derek says, honestly taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“You! And your pet-stealing operation!”

Derek frowns, puzzling it all together. “So you’re saying, this wasn’t some stupid prank, you actually thought I was stealing people’s pets and then…selling them back?”

“I mean, basically. There can’t be _that_ many pets that go missing.”

Something in Derek’s expression changes, then, and he relaxes. “It’s not as many as you’d think. They’re not all here. I put up signs for the local shelter, sometimes. Or for people looking for their lost pets. I mean, six animals is a lot, so I can’t keep too many more on my property. Especially if they’re not trained. So, it’s really not. What it looks like. I guess.”

He snaps his fingers, and Cap barks happily, pawing at Stiles’ calf. “You can go, if you want,” Derek says without further explanation.

And Stiles doesn’t get a chance to even think, because his dad chooses that moment to pull up in front of Derek’s house.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Derek says firmly before Stiles’ dad can get a word out. Stiles is so confused he’s getting a headache.

“Do I even want to know?” his dad asks wearily.

“Not really,” Stiles says, and then pats his dad’s arm. “Derek is not a criminal.”  

“I never thought he was?” His dad looks between the two of them and sighs. “Is anyone pressing charges?”

“No, sir,” Derek and Stiles say at the same time, and Stiles just gets the hell out, hoping Derek can be trusted to return Skippy to the vet before nightfall.

_Derek brought Skippy back,_ Scott texts him later, _he looks like someone ran him over. What did u do????_

Stiles does not reply.

***

The thing about all of this that makes the least sense is that Derek still comes to Stiles’ copy shop. Same time, same days. He even still brings his pets. It doesn’t make any sense.

Well, it kind of does. He refuses to make eye contact with Stiles and he doesn’t say a word, letting the animals talk for him, or something. Derek is clearly a stubborn creature of habit. And it’s not like Stiles is making any efforts to talk to him, no matter how many “subtle” hints from Scott that he should just apologize already.

Stiles has nothing to apologize for. Not to Derek, anyway.

A week after the incident, Stiles finds himself in front of Derek’s open door once again, plastic crinkling between his fingers. This is such a terrible idea. The worst idea in the world. The dogs are barking excitedly around him, well-trained enough to stay away from Stiles’ gift, but clearly debating saying to hell with it.

He doesn’t even give Derek a chance to say anything when he comes to the door, just shoves the bouquet right into his face. “This is for Cap. And Daisy, and Bruce. To say I’m sorry for basically ignoring them the last time I was here.”

“This is the apology you’re going with,” Derek sighs, taking the bouquet from Stiles and examining the various dog treats. “I don’t only have dogs, you know.”

“That’s why there’s cat treats in the middle, and, oh god,” Stiles covers his face with his hand, “A little package of bird seed, just accept it on behalf of your pets and let me leave, I’m begging you.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Derek says haltingly. “You can visit with them, if you want.”

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Derek shrugs. “You still haven’t actually apologized to me.”

“What? No way, you called my dad to arrest me!”

“Wait,” Derek’s eyebrows raise, “Your _dad_ is the Sheriff?”

“Oh, uhhh,” Stiles laughs nervously, “Yeah. My dad is in fact the Sheriff.”

“Could you ask him to stop coming here once a week?”

“I’m not even sure I want to know what you mean.” Stiles sits down on the porch, and after a moment Derek joins him. They’re immediately mobbed by a bunch of dogs denied their treats for far too long. 

“I guess I didn’t think that through.” Derek calms them down, and for the first time Stiles really witnesses and appreciates the mutual respect between Derek and his menagerie, the way he claims their attention completely, and vice-versa. “Come inside?” he asks, breaking through Stiles’ thoughts.

The interior of Derek’s house is exactly what Stiles’ would have expected, if he’d thought about it. Everything looks handmade, and well-loved, with scratch marks and teeth marks and faded stains. It smells fresh, like it’s just an extension of the woods with four walls and a roof. Stiles has an almost uncontrollable urge to lay down on the floor and call the dogs over. Then he gets this image of Derek doing the same thing, and he finally accepts it, that Scott was right all along. He’s got it bad for Derek.

“So, uh, you’re not my first intruder,” Derek says like he’s trying to play it cool, without actually pulling it off.

“Ohmygod,” Stiles says as realization dawns, laughter punching out of him so hard he has to bend over. “You’re-you’re the guy! The woods guy!”

Derek stares at him like he thinks he’s possessed. “Do you…need to leave?”

“No,  no,” Stiles takes a deep breath to get himself under control, wiping at his eyes. “It’s just, for _years_ Dad has been talking about this guy who calls the station every couple of months, because there’s an intruder on his property, and it always turns out it’s just his sister playing pranks-“

Derek’s expression changes from wanting to become one with the earth to offended rage in seconds. “One of these days he’s going to catch Cora and nobody is going to bail her out, that’s all I’m saying.”

Stiles freezes for a second, and then bursts into hysterics again, hanging onto the wall for support. “I can’t handle this, this is just – first you’re the dog thief making dozens of copies and then it turns out you’re, you’re the woods guy, too, oh god, do you even know how to play with others?”

Derek sighs. “Why do you think I live alone in the woods with a bunch of animals?” It sounds light, the way he says it, but it stops Stiles’ short.

“Along with fixing broken copiers, my talents include saying the exact worst thing imaginable at any given time,” Stiles offers, palms up in a ‘what can you do’ expression.

“It’s not like it isn’t true, but, you _are_ the one who brought me dog treat flowers as an apology for trying to get me arrested.”

Stiles makes a face, tries to grab them back but isn’t fast enough. “You are the worst, you know that?” He reaches again, gets his hand around the plastic stems and yelps in shock when Derek tugs him close.

“No,” Derek says softly, a small smile on his lips, “You are.”

“I tried to get you arrested,” Stiles says weakly, letting go of the bouquet so Derek can toss it on the nearest surface. He finds himself clutching Derek’s shirt instead, fingers twitching.

“You were worried about the well-being of the animals – most people, they think I’m a crazy shut-in, and that’s fine, I don’t _care_ , I’m happy to be left alone. Most people I let in are, they’re…” he struggles for words, and Stiles can tell there’s a story there, maybe one he doesn’t want to hear, “They don’t care like I do,” he finishes simply, “But you, I see how you treat your customers, even the shitty ones, even me, and maybe your plan was ill-thought out but you give a shit. About the animals.”

“And you, don’t forget you,” Stiles says, and the meet in the middle with a kiss.

***

 

 

It is _not_ Stiles turn to clean out the shed. Not only is he sure of this, he’s not unwilling to resort to dirty tactics to prove it. “Hey, Derek,” he says casually, leaning back on one of their matching deck chairs, “Remember that time you called the cops on me, and the cops happened to be my dad?”

“Remember that time you thought I was stealing animals for a living?” Derek counters lazily, not even opening his eyes from where he’s reclined.

“That’s the whole reason we ended up together! You can’t use that against me,” Stiles half-shouts, indignant. Cap the third comes running at the sound of his raised voice, hopping up on Derek’s lap and looking offended on his behalf. That’s the one thing about Cap and all his namesake’s. They love Stiles, but at the end of the day they’re Derek’s dogs. “Traitor,” Stiles accuses, “I pay for your food, too.”

“Don’t listen to your father,” Derek says, still refusing to open his eyes. “He probably still thinks I steal animals.”

“Uh, can I interrupt?” And huh, Stiles had totally forgotten it was Evan’s first day as the Stilinski-Hale Animal Rescue’s very own intern. Evan, who has inherited not only his father’s crooked jaw and complete adoration of Stiles, but his mother’s perfect aim and no-nonsense attitude as well.

“Hey, kid,” Stiles says, ignoring exactly how much he sounds like his father. “What’s up?”

“It’s just, you know, Cap doesn’t actually understand you?” Oh, teenagers, Stiles thinks.

“Yes he can,” Stiles and Derek say at the same time. Derek opens his eyes, looking at Stiles with a huge grin. Cap hops off his lap just in time for them to share a kiss.

“Ugh,” Evan groans. “Please give me something to do, please.”

“Well,” Stiles says, pleased with himself, “The shed has definitely seen better days.”  

 

**Author's Note:**

> praise be to Marina as always, for listening to me as i melt down and holding my hand, telling me my ideas are good, and being honest with me when i could do better
> 
> DON'T ASK ME ABOUT ALL OF MY HEADCANONS FOR THIS AU YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW


End file.
